


All That Matters Now

by Evie_adams273



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: About the dark AU, Astoria Malfoy - Freeform, Astoria's grave, Gen, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, M/M, Nightmare, Parent and child, Post-Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Scorpius is really suffering, Vomiting, definitely not, hill, i'm very tired, like scorpius in this, scorpius and draco, scorpius has no eating patterns, this isn't self-reflective at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 11:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21493420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evie_adams273/pseuds/Evie_adams273
Summary: After Scorpius and Albus arrive home, Scorpius' health deteriorates rapidly, for reasons he refuses to confide in anyone. After passing out in a potions lesson and ending up in the Hospital Wing, he is sent home for a few weeks, and is forced to confront the ever-swelling demons in his mind.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Scorpius Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	All That Matters Now

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: anxiety, nightmare, possible eating disorder, self-harm

Scorpius was supposed to be packing. He had been told to pack two days ago, when his habit of not eating, not sleeping, and solely throwing himself into his schoolwork had actually taken a toll.

He didn’t really remember what had happened. He just knew that he had blacked out in a lesson (possibly Potions), and woken up in the Hospital Wing with Albus beside him. Albus hadn’t left his side through all of it, and he wished, desperately, that he could actually admit what was going on.

No one knew what had really gotten to him most. He hadn’t admitted it. He hadn’t told anyone. He couldn’t tell anyone.

In truth, Delphi’s betrayal hadn’t shaken him nearly as much as other things. The Quidditch Pitch, while he still had nightmares about Craig’s death, wasn’t ever as present in his mind as the other things. The Quidditch Pitch hadn’t faded, but it had become difficult to discern details through the constant pain embedded in the memories. Not that he was complaining about that.

Albus didn’t know about any of this and, Scorpius assumed that he assumed his nightmares mainly centred around the Quidditch Pitch. He never said anything about them. He never said anything about the hell rattling around his mind.

But it rattled around his mind so much that it was entirely overwhelming, which was why he was sat on the edge of his bed, staring forward blankly, without taking in any of the world.

He was going home. He was going home for a few weeks so that he could ‘fix himself’. He was going home so that he could eat and sleep and heal. He didn’t know how he would heal when the thing that terrified him most would be in almost sole focus.

He hadn’t said anything to anyone, and as he got further and further away from it all, he wanted to speak less and less. It was easier to ignore it, because when he thought about it, it flared up. And the longer he left it, the more it flared up when he tried to think about it.

No.

No.

It was easier to ignore it, to shut the whole world out. It was always easier to do that.

He looked up as he saw Albus approaching nervously, barely remembering to smile and pretend that he was okay, that he was looking forward to going home. Albus sat down beside him, taking his hand.

“Are you okay, Scor?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re not packed. Aren’t you supposed to be going in half an hour?”

“I…”

“Here, what do you need? I’ll pack.”

Scorpius watched silently as Albus stood again and pulled out his trunk, opening it. Almost immediately, he regretted it. The innards of his trunk seemed to be yet another indication of the fact that he was not okay, and therefore the fact that he was keeping a secret.

Normally, he kept his trunk incredibly neat. He tidied it almost obsessively, as a companion to throwing himself into schoolwork. But since the return from time, he hadn’t even looked at it, and now it was a dump.

Albus didn’t comment, going to Scorpius’ drawers and pulling out a few of his t-shirts and trousers. He stopped momentarily, and Scorpius looked up. Albus was holding a green jumper that he recognised too much. Seeing it, and the memories it dredged up, somehow gave him the strength to stand up and walk to Albus. He took the jumper from Albus’ trembling hands and pushed it back into the drawer, shutting it firmly.

“Don’t worry about packing,” he mumbled. “I’ve got clothes at home.”

“Is this what you want?” Albus asked. “Is going home what you want?”

Scorpius stopped, biting his lip. The right thing to do was be honest. The right thing to do was admit that, no he didn’t, but he had to. He knew that he couldn’t just keep throwing himself into schoolwork. As much as it distracted him, it didn’t help. It just meant that he went above and beyond in every single task, even at the risk of his own health.

His attitude to schoolwork was the reason he was going home. He had to go home. He had to learn to cope.

He just didn’t know whether he was ready for it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I should. I need to. There’s just – there’s just something that happened. And I’m not – I’m not ready to confront that.”

“Can I ask what that is?”

Scorpius didn’t answer.

“You don’t have to tell me. But if you want to, I’ll listen.”

“In the – in the other world – something – something happened.”

“To do with your dad?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius nodded. “Look, I – I don’t – I can’t…”

“That’s okay,” Albus said quickly. “If you don’t want to do this, just say the word and I can talk to them for you. They won’t be angry.”

“I need to rest…”

“If needs be, I’m sure they could reduce your timetable,” Albus said softly. “There are ways around this if you aren’t ready to confront it yet.”

Scorpius nodded again, blinking back the tears. He couldn’t understand how someone with so much to be wrapped up in could be so utterly and beautifully selfless. And he wished, desperately, that he could be there for Albus in that way.

But he couldn’t. And he understood why.

He understood that working himself so hard that he blacked out and ended up in the Hospital Wing warranted going home. He needed to go home. He just needed to spend a few minutes mentally preparing himself. It wold be okay if he could do that.

He stood up, going to the window and taking a breath. Three weeks away. Three weeks where he could contact Albus, Floo-call Albus, and come back to Albus, if he needed to. Albus. His rock. His anchor. The most important person in his life.

And the person he had very nearly lost too many times in the previous weeks.

He shook the thought. He didn’t want to fall down that hole now. He’d had a decent day. He wanted to keep it under the label of ‘decent’ for as long as possible.

“I should probably go,” he muttered.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Please.”

He hadn’t intended to beg, but that was how the word had come out, and he didn’t stop it. He needed Albus, especially now. He needed Albus to be with him when he saw his dad. Albus smiled at him softly, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. Scorpius clung to it, biting his lip as his eyes filled with tears.

“Please write,” he whispered, “when I’m away.”

“Of course I’ll write,” Albus promised. “Every single hour if you need me. And I can Floo-call.”

Scorpius nodded, glancing at the door, before he and Albus started to walk towards it. Albus didn’t let go of his hand as they walked through the Common Room, ignoring any and all looks that they received. A couple of times, Scorpius had thought that letting go would be better – he didn’t want to abandon Albus to bullies – but he didn’t. If Albus was prepared to keep their hands together, he wasn’t prepared to let go.

The corridors were reasonably empty, which Scorpius found slightly strange for a Thursday night, but he didn’t complain. He preferred the quiet. The noise overwhelmed his mind until all he could think about was how terrified he was.

He spent a lot of time being terrified now. It somewhere seemed to dwarf the time he had previously spent being terrified. Somehow.

When they arrived at Professor McGonagall’s office, they knocked on the door, and Scorpius took a final deep breath, reminding himself that he couldn’t flinch if his dad was already waiting for him.

It turned out that he was not, and Professor McGonagall welcomed them both in, showing them somewhere to sit, and offering them both a biscuit while they waited. Scorpius accepted his, not fully able to form words with which to refuse, but he didn’t manage to eat it, instead nibbling the edges and trying to distract himself.

He tried to imagine that he was prepared, but when his dad slid out the fireplace, straightened up, and smiled at him, a few minutes later, he realised that he was not prepared in any way. He reminded himself to breathe as he stood up, reluctant to let go of Albus’ hand.

“Write,” he tried not to sound like he was pleading. 

“Of course I will,” Albus smiled softly, standing up; he wrapped his arms around Scorpius. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered, “and if you’re not, you’re allowed to come back.”

Scorpius nodded, swallowing the dry lump in his throat. He needed something to drink. He’d find something later, in the morning, probably. He looked at his dad, smiling slightly, and let go of Albus.

The walk to his dad was possibly the longest steps he had ever taken, but he kept moving. He had to be brave. And he had to remember that this was his dad. His dad who loved him more than anything in the world. Not the sick, twisted thing that had hurt him.

Different people. They were different people who happened to look eerily similar.

“How are you doing, Scorpius?” his dad asked softly. 

“I’m – I’m okay,” Scorpius lied, “yeah – yeah – I’m okay.”

“Well, Albus, Professor, we should be going.”

“Make sure you get some rest, Scorpius,” Professor McGonagall smiled kindly. “If you need more time, just let me know and it can be arranged.”

Scorpius nodded, following his dad to the fireplace. He was starting to wish that he had mustered the strength to pack a bag, because his entire body felt strangely light without the weight of multiple inch-thick books. Or at least something.

He had nothing, and the weightlessness unnerved him, somehow more so than he already was. He tried to shake the thoughts as he looked once more at Albus, who was smiling reassuringly at him, and then climbed into the fireplace after his dad.

Within seconds, he slid out the fireplace in the lounge and stood up, trying not to stumble into his dad. He hated Floo travel. He had always hated Floo travel. It made him feel unnecessarily sick, and he swallowed a few times, trying to remember that, technically, he couldn’t vomit when he hadn’t eaten that day.

It was the first time he hadn’t eaten properly since his collapse. Albus usually kept him on track. Albus had been busy today. And he was so pathetic that he couldn’t even make himself eat for one day.

He stopped moving around, waiting for everything to focus again, and then he flinched back sharply. His dad had come to wipe some of the soot from his clothes. He hadn’t been expecting it. It had scared him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I – I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” his dad said softly. “Are you all right?”

“Tired,” Scorpius lied. “I should get some sleep.”

“Oh,” his dad looked surprised. “Okay. Have you eaten dinner?”

“No. But I need to sleep. I’ll eat tomorrow.”

He didn’t know whether that was a lie. He would probably eat tomorrow. But he didn’t really want to. It was more hiding everything. He had to hide all of it.

He walked away, biting his lip. He would sleep. He would probably have a nightmare. He couldn’t have nightmares. If he had a nightmare, his dad would find out. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything.

And he didn’t even know why anymore.

When he got to his room, he had barely taken his robes off when he collapsed onto the bed and passed out.

Passed out so deeply that even his mind couldn’t force his dreams upon him.

* * *

The next morning, Scorpius didn’t move from his bed until his dad knocked on his door, probably to check he was still alive. He sat up, trying to make himself look a little fresher than how dead he felt. 

“Morning,” he mumbled as the door opened.

“Morning,” his dad smiled. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius tried to nod and smile back, “I was just – tired – didn’t realise how tired – sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you want some breakfast?”

No. No. He didn’t want to eat. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to be constantly so exhausted that he didn’t even dream. But he had to carry on existing. So he had to eat.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll – I’ll come down in a minute.”

“I can bring it in here, if you want.”

“I’ll come down. Give – give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time.”

His dad smiled at him again as he left, and Scorpius tried to smile back. If he got up to eat breakfast, he could count that as getting up, and then he could spend the rest of the day in the safety of his room.

Even though he knew that the rest of the house was safe. He had to remind himself of that. He had to remind himself of the fact that he was home, that this was the home in which he had grown up, in which every happy memory of his family had truly been born.

He would be okay around his dad. His dad looked entirely different now, or as different as he could look. He was wearing a dress gown, and his hair was tied up in a messy ponytail that Scorpius had once loved. That he still wanted to love, if he was able to shake what he felt whenever he thought about his dad.

He wanted to love the messy ponytail mornings, because they were always the days when it would just be the three of them. Just him, and his dad, and his mum.

The messy ponytail meant that his dad didn’t have to go anywhere. The messy ponytail meant that his dad didn’t have to put up any pretences. The messy ponytail meant that it was just their family.

Scorpius rolled over, pulling the duvet back and trying to take a deep breath. One meal. He could stomach one meal. And then he could spend the rest of the day alone. If he had to get up and actively exist, he could start tomorrow.

He stood up, stumbling forward a few feet as he tried to put weight on both legs. That was new. And probably something to worry about. He ignored it, continuing to walk and leaning on the wall, and then the banister, as he went downstairs and into the kitchen.

His dad wasn’t in there, and he pulled a slice of bread out of the breadbin, slotting it into the toaster and sitting down at the table. Toast. He could stomach toast. Probably. He had to, at least, try.

His dad came back a couple of minutes later, as the toast popped up and he went to put it onto a plate. 

“Do you want some butter with that?”

“Hm?” Scorpius looked up. “Oh. No. Thank you. No.”

He sat down again, tearing off a strip of toast and putting it in his mouth. He could remember how to eat. Chew. Swallow. Wait. Chew. Swallow. Wait.

He ate slowly, but he did eat, and he didn’t start to feel sick as he did so. So he was successful. Eating was successful.

His dad had sat down next to him and tried to make conversation a couple of times, but Scorpius didn’t want to talk, so he soon dropped it. And while Scorpius felt bad for shutting down his dad’s attempts, he couldn’t bring himself to keep it afloat.

After he had eaten, he went back to his room, lying back on his bed and trying to clear his thoughts. Three weeks. He couldn’t do this for three weeks. He had to get himself back on track at some point.

But not yet. He didn’t have the energy to yet.

* * *

Scorpius didn’t leave his room for the rest of the day. At about midday, his dad knocked on his door with some food, but he left soon after, promising he was downstairs if Scorpius needed him.

He looked as if he felt bad that he couldn’t help Scorpius, and Scorpius wished that he could say that it wasn’t his fault, that he was trying his best and he, Scorpius, was really the one at fault.

That was how Scorpius felt. That was how Scorpius had felt since it had happened. It had been his fault. And the fact that he still couldn’t get over himself and stop being scared, even when he had been the one in the wrong, annoyed him. But it was another thing he didn’t have the strength to correct.

And he didn’t even know where to start. How could he start explaining that he was scared of the person who was supposed to care about him most? How could he explain that, really, it was his fault?

It was his fault. He had riled the dark version of his father. He had talked about his mum. He had provoked what had happened. How could he admit that without becoming entirely incoherent?

And then there was the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about anything that happened. He knew he should confront it, because every time he didn’t, it all got worse. Somehow, even though he knew it would get better if he actually talked about it, he still couldn’t bring himself to.

Unless…unless, he could ask for one thing. One small thing. It would probably raise as many questions as it answered, but it might help.

Tomorrow.

He had to ask tomorrow.

If he didn’t ask tomorrow, then he would probably continue letting his health deteriorate until it killed him.

But for that day, he just stayed in bed, occasionally muffling sobs with a pillow. When the sun started to set, he closed the curtains, and tried to go to sleep. At first, everything was okay, because he was still exhausted, despite having spent all day in one place.

At first, he didn’t dream.

* * *

The nightmare started like most of the other nightmares. It started just walking down the corridor. Another dark corridor. It shouldn’t have made a difference. But then it morphed, like it always morphed, into something somehow darker.

Into something wretched and hopeless and twisted and familiar. It was all entirely familiar now. He knew where he was, because he had been here every night that he had been conscious enough to dream. He knew where he was walking. And he knew where he would end up.

He tried to fight it. He tried to fight his own subconscious movements, but he just kept trudging onwards. Onwards towards the office. Onwards towards his father. Onwards towards the conversation.

He could feel tears running down his cheeks. He thought, every single night, that he would never be more scared than this, but then the next night arrived and that was proved wrong.

That was the strangest thing. He knew it was a dream. He knew that all of it was, really, being created in his mind, but he still couldn’t shake any of it. The memory of what had happened, no matter how it was distorted, remained the same.

What it really came down to was the fact that he was scared.

But he had to keep walking. Because that was what his mind forced him to do.

He walked and walked and walked until he reached the door, and then he stopped. And knocked. He had to knock.

He walked in when the door opened, and the conversation that ensued, no matter what he tried to do to steer it elsewhere. He got angry. He started to shout. He walked towards the desk. He talked about his mum–

The nightmare changed.

Instead of solely his father’s hand pinning him to the desk by his neck, something seemed to be smothering him. There were hands around his neck and shoulders and something was covering his face, stretched tight so that he couldn’t breathe properly.

He fought against it, gasping for air, screaming for help. He was going to die. Something had gone wrong, and he was going to die.

He could hear his father continuing to talk like he always did, but it was different now. Now that he was screaming and writhing and sobbing. He could hear more voices. Not just his father’s and his own. Another voice. Shouting his name. Shouting in desperation and fear.

It wasn’t Albus. He could tell it wasn’t Albus, because Albus would do something. Albus would save him.

But he didn’t know who else it would be. He screamed again, this time fighting the nightmare itself. He had to wake up. He had to wake up. He had to wake–

* * *

He sat bolt upright, panting heavily as he looked around. Someone, there was someone, in the dark, holding him and trying to wake him. Someone trying to–

He screamed again, scrambling backwards as he laid eyes on his father, knelt on his bed, trying to get to him. No. Not his father. His dad. His dad, trying to help him. He didn’t need to be scared. He was safe. It had just been a bad dream. Just another bad dream.

But he still didn’t move away from where he had scrambled to. If anything, he moved further away from his dad, as the nausea in the pit of his stomach started to build rapidly. He was starting to regret eating. Because the feeling was getting increasingly worse and worse and he couldn’t control it.

He started to stand, half in mind to get to a toilet, but he didn’t make it, instead sliding onto the floor before vomiting up everything he had managed to eat that day. It hadn’t been much, but that didn’t stop the overpowering taste lingering in his mouth as he tried to swallow a few times without retching again.

He leaned back against the bedframe, blinking back tears as he tried to steady his breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

“Scorpius?” his dad broke the silence. “Can I come over?”

Scorpius nodded. He was almost too exhausted to be scared. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that meant that he could pull himself out of the mess he was in. Maybe a nightmare that led to him being sat in a pool of sick could be a start.

He didn’t have the strength to stop himself flinching as his dad sat beside him, pulling out his wand and vanishing the mess. He offered Scorpius a glass of water and Scorpius took it, trying to wash the taste out of his mouth. He was still struggling to keep his breathing steady.

His dad summoned a new set of pyjamas and offered them to him. He took them, continuing to concentrate on his breathing. He didn’t really want to change, but he knew he should – he was entirely drenched in sweat – so he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled to the other side of the room, so exhausted that he couldn’t even stay on his feet long enough to change.

Once he had changed, he put his other pyjamas in the corner and sat back onto the bed, reminding himself to breathe again.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Scorpius glanced at his dad a couple of times, tears now starting to run down his cheeks. He felt like he’d done the wrong thing. He felt like he’d upset his dad once he admitted what was really going on. He had to admit what was really going on.

“How are you feeling?” his dad broke the silence. 

“Tired,” Scorpius mumbled. “And – and scared.”

He had to start being honest.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Tomorrow. Not – not now. Please…”

“Okay,” his dad nodded, “that’s completely okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I – I haven’t told – anyone – what’s happened.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Scorpius. Whatever is going on, it isn’t your fault.”

Scorpius nodded, though he didn’t believe it. Everything that had happened, had happened because of him. He knew that.

He bit his lip at the thought that then occurred to him. He knew it would help him, but he didn’t want to make his dad uncomfortable. And it would be uncomfortable. Still, he had to say this, and this was the only way he knew he would say it. 

“Can we – can we go and see mum tomorrow?” the words caught in his throat.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you. I – I should get some sleep.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Please…”

He lay back, wrapping his arms around himself and staring at the ceiling. His dad picked up a blanket and draped it over him – he was still on top of the duvet – before sitting down beside him. Scorpius curled up, breathing in deeply. Safe. He was safe. His dad had always, and would always, keep him safe.

He found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep again, and this time, he didn’t dream.

* * *

His dad had apparently fallen asleep with him, because when Scorpius woke the next morning, he was still curled in his dad’s arms, and he smiled. Not because he felt like he had to. Not because he was trying to pretend the world was okay. But because it was a genuine, instinctive reaction.

What had happened in the night stuck fresh in his mind, but he wasn’t scared. Or, he could tell himself that and truly believe it. He closed his eyes again, letting himself drift in and out of sleep. It was still very early, but he didn’t have anything to get up for. He should probably write back to Albus at some point, as Albus had probably already sent him two or three letters. But not yet. For now, he could simply doze in and out of sleep.

When his dad woke, sometime later, the two of them ate breakfast together (Scorpius managing to stomach a decent amount of food now that he felt under no pressure to do so), and then they got ready to walk up to his mum’s grave.

As he got dressed, he tried to plan what he was going to say. He could say it. He felt confident about that. He just wanted to have some gage on what he was going to say. As a final safety net.

It was reasonably cold on the walk up the hill, but Scorpius didn’t pay much attention to it. His mind was solely focussed on the path and the route. They had come up a hundred times before, and every time, he remembered how much his mum had loved coming up the hill on this walk.

It had been one of the last things they had done as a family before she had become too ill to leave the house. They probably would have done the walk a few more times, but in June, the weather had become so utterly horrific that going outside would have made her more ill.

Scorpius had always held a little bit of surprise that his mother enjoyed a walk involving a graveyard so much, but at the same time, he understood that she had made peace with her death long before he was born.

He only wished that he had managed to do the same. He wished that he had been in some way ready to say goodbye when he’d had to.

He shook the thoughts. He couldn’t head down that spiral now. He had to keep his mind clear for at least half an hour more so that he could explain what was going on. After that, he would probably be able to head down a thousand different tangents. Not that he wanted to.

He ran his thumb along the stem of one of the flowers he was carrying, wincing as he hit a thorn, and then smiling a little. The sharpness of the pain helped him control his thoughts somewhat. It made them more manageable.

His dad squeezed his hand a little as a gust of wind made him shiver, and he smiled at him. This was the right thing to do. This was the right thing.

When they reached the graveyard, Scorpius walked slowly up to the very top, to where his mum’s headstone stood, small against the wind. It was small, simple, but that had been what she’d wanted. It simply bore her name, and inscriptions from both Scorpius and his dad.

Scorpius placed the flowers down against the stone, biting his lip as he sunk to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. His dad sat beside him and he leaned into his embrace, taking a deep breath.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Scorpius looked out over the edge of the hill. He had to do this. He had to come up here to do this, so he had to. 

“I…” he started slowly, “I don’t know what to start with.”

“Whatever you feel most comfortable with. I’m listening.”

“I know I said you were Head of Magical Law Enforcement,” Scorpius mumbled. “But I didn’t know that for the first three days. I only found out because I saw you…because…”

* * *

_Scorpius walks down the corridor, trying not to panic. Or, at the very least, trying not to show the fact that he is panicking. He has been panicking for four days now. He didn’t realise how appalling he has been at hiding himself until Professor Umbridge called him into her office._

_That had terrified him. That had terrified him beyond belief. But now he’s more scared. He has been called to the Ministry, to the office of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Which means that whatever he’s been doing wrong has become known throughout more than the school. The Ministry know._

_And given the things he’s been hearing about what happens to ‘dissenters’, he doesn’t know if he’ll walk out of this again. He doesn’t know if he’s walking towards his death, but he knows it’s a possibility. _

_And he’s terrified. _

_If he dies, the world will be stuck like this. If he dies, then Albus, and Albus’ family, and every person he looked up to during his childhood, will be dead forever. He can’t die. He can’t let his mistakes be the cause of so much pain, not for all eternity._

_He would think ‘for any part of time’, but that isn’t an option anymore._

_It is his mistakes that brought him here. If he had stopped Albus sooner, if he had thought a little bit harder, he would not be here, walking down a corridor. Towards what may be his death._

_He forces himself to breathe. At the very least, he wants to make the most of breathing if he is about to die. He has quite a lot of breathing to catch up on._

_Umbridge left him a few corridors ago, so he’s alone and only vaguely aware of where he’s going. It’s down here. Somehow. It’s down here, somewhere. _

_He knows when he finds the right door, because it’s huge and dark and covered in a thousand intricate carvings. Like every other major office, there is an Augurey emblazoned on the door, and he knocks once, the sound ringing through the otherwise silent corridor._

_He isn’t sure whether he can do this. But he has to. Because while this might kill him, taking any other option definitely would kill him. So he has to do this._

_The door opens and he walks in, still forcing the air into his lungs with every step he takes. And then he looks up, and he struggles not to stumble back._

_Because his dad is stood at the desk, flicking through files with an air of utter impatience hanging around him. And if his dad is here, that means this is his dad’s office. And that means–  
_

_“You’re late.”  
_

_“This is your office?”  
_

_“You’re late and unapologetic – maybe you are determined to compound the problem.”  
_

_“_You’re _Head of Magical Law Enforcement–”  
_

_“How dare you! How dare you embarrass me, keep me waiting, and then not even apologise for it.”  
_

_“Sorry,” Scorpius mumbles, looking at the floor.  
_

_“Sir.”  
_

_“Sorry, sir.”_

_He bites his lip. He wants to let go. He wants to let his guard down a little. Just a little. He’s had it up for nearly four days, and it’s starting to drop anyway. If he can just get rid of it now, even for a minute, he can keep going. Just a little longer. Just a little longer.  
_

_“I did not bring you up to be sloppy, Scorpius,” his father murmurs. “I did not bring you up to humiliate me at Hogwarts.”  
_

_“Humiliate you–”  
_

_“Harry Potter? Asking questions about Harry Potter? Of all the embarrassing things. How dare you disgrace the Malfoy name.”_

_Scorpius stares at his father as something occurs to him. Something that should have occurred a long time ago, but somehow hasn’t. Because he hasn’t wanted it to. Because he hasn’t wanted to consider that anyone could ever do this.  
_

_“Are you responsible?” he asks. “No. No. You can’t be.”  
_

_“Scorpius…”  
_

_“The _Daily Prophet _today,” Scorpius can’t stop himself. “Three wizards blowing up bridges to see how many muggles they can kill with one blast – is that you?”  
_

_“Be very careful.”  
_

_“The Mudblood Death Camps!” he spits. “The torture, the _burning alive _of those that oppose him! How much of that is you?”_

_He knows he should stop. He knows he should pull back, force the guard back up. He doesn’t know this version of Draco Malfoy. He doesn’t know if he will get hurt or help if he explodes in the way he is exploding. But he can’t stop himself. All of it has been building up for too long. He needs to get rid of it. And he’s started. And he can’t stop himself._

_He’s always hoped that, maybe, maybe, change was inevitable for his dad. Because he’s always wanted to think that his dad isn’t really a bad person. But if his dad can get worse, then he doesn’t know what he can hope for anymore. There’s nothing left.  
_

_“You know, mum, mum always said you were a better man than I could see,” he can feel tears running down his face as he walks closer, “but this is really what you are, isn’t it? You’re a murderer! You’re a torturer! You’re–”_

_He shrieks in shock as his father reaches out and seizes him, forcing his head to the table. He whimpers, unable to move because the hand holding him down is too strong.  
_

_“Do not,” Draco snarls, “use her name in vain. You do not score points that way. _She _deserves better.”_

_Scorpius can’t do anything except whimper in fear, and when he’s released, he stumbles back across the room, still sobbing as he runs his hand over his neck, some idea of checking for damage somewhere in his mind.  
_

_“And no,” Draco continues, “those idiots blasting muggles – that wasn’t my doing – though it will be me the Augurey asks to bribe the Muggle Prime Minister with gold.”_

_Scorpius says nothing, though he backs away as Draco walks across the office to get to him. The movement is more instinctual than anything. He can’t really think clearly. He can’t comprehend how the person who is supposed to love him most in the world has just hurt him like this. He knows he said the wrong thing, but this, this seemed too much.  
_

_“Did your mother really say that of me?”_

_His mother. His mum. He can concentrate on his mum._

_“Well, she said that grandfather didn’t like her very much,” Scorpius tries to force a smile, “opposed the match. Thought she was too ‘muggle-loving’, too weak. But – that you defied him – for her. She said it was the bravest thing she’d ever seen.”  
_

_“She made being brave very easy, your mother.”  
_

_“Oh, but that was _another _you,” Scorpius smiles bitterly. “I’ve done bad things, _you’ve _done worse. What have we become, dad?”  
_

_“We haven’t become anything,” the response is almost pre-emptive, as if he’s prepared it. “We simply – are as we are.”  
_

_“The Malfoys,” Scorpius nods, trying not to spit the words. “The family you can always rely on to make the world a murkier place.”_

_He means it. He means the words he speaks. And he tells himself that he doesn’t care what happens. He tells himself that it doesn’t matter now, because if he can get hurt like this, then there is no hope in the world. And there never will be. So he tells himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t afraid. _

_Of course, he is. Because when his father closes the gap between the two of them, he cannot help but flinch and stumble back. It doesn’t matter what he tells himself. He doesn’t want to get hurt again.  
_

_“This business at the school,” his father says, “what’s inspired it?”  
_

_“I don’t want to be who I am.”  
_

_“And what’s – brought that on?”  
_

_“I’ve – seen – myself in a different way.”_

_He doesn’t know how else to describe what’s going on inside his head. He can’t say anything about what’s really going on. Not that he would have dreamt that he could.  
_

_“You know what I loved most about your mother? She could always help me find light in the darkness. She made the world – less – what was the word you used? Murky?”  
_

_“Did she?” Scorpius swallows.  
_

_“There’s more of her in there than I thought.”_

_Scorpius flinches again as his father reaches towards him to indicate his heart. But then he turns and walks back to the desk, as if getting sentimental and kind is a bad thing. Scorpius doesn’t stop him.  
_

_“Whatever you are doing, do it safely. I can’t lose you too.”  
_

_“Yes. Sir.”  
_

_“For Voldemort and Valour.”_

_He crosses his wrists sharply, and Scorpius looks at the floor, forcing himself to mimic the movement. He has to put his guard back up. He has to rebuild it so that he can survive._

_Not that it should ever have come down in the first place._

_“For Voldemort and Valour.”_

* * *

By the time he finished speaking, Scorpius was sobbing quietly. He’d wrapped his arms around himself and was rocking back and forth as he stared out over the hilltop. Reliving it. He was reliving it. And it hurt. It hurt more than anything had hurt in the past few weeks. But he wasn’t angry with himself for doing it. He had done the right thing.

He looked up at his dad after a moment to see that his dad was staring at his mum’s grave silently, tears rolling down his face as he, almost subconsciously, fiddled with his wedding ring.

“I hurt you?” 

“A version of you,” Scorpius tried to say it as if it was a correction; he didn’t want to hurt his dad. “A version of you hurt me.”

“And this is why you haven’t – why your health has been deteriorating?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius nodded. “What – what happened on the Quidditch Pitch – it – it was – I don’t remember – it isn’t detailed unless I think about it…but this – this is – and it’s always – in – my head…”

His dad placed a hand on his shoulder tentatively and, when Scorpius leaned into his touch, he wrapped his arms around his son, rocking him back and forth. And Scorpius let himself cry, and let himself feel, and let himself show how he felt. 

“I want you to know,” his dad murmured, “that I will never hurt you again. You are the most important thing in the world and I promise that I will never let anything hurt you.”

“It was my fault,” Scorpius mumbled. “What happened was my fault.”

“No. No, it wasn’t. You had every right to get angry. You had every right to want to let your guard down. I – or whatever version of me that was – I should have done better. None of it was your fault.”

Scorpius didn’t reply, closing his eyes and shivering. It was cold. They were on a hill in the middle of November. It was cold. 

“Do you want to head home?” his dad asked.

“Not yet,” Scorpius shook his head, before nodding towards the grave. “I don’t see her often. I…I…”

“Okay,” his dad smiled. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you been eating since you were in the Hospital Wing?”

“I…”

“We can talk about it later, if you want.”

“No,” Scorpius shook his head. “No, I can talk about it now. I – Albus got me to eat at mealtimes. Not a lot. Just – something. Regularly.”

“Did it help?”

“Yeah. I was sick in the night sometimes. But I ate more than I vomited up.”

“Could we try that? Eating small amounts. Little and often?”

“It helped,” Scorpius nodded. “I – and I will try – I just – little and often.”

His dad nodded again and Scorpius leaned into another hug, taking deep breaths. He could be okay. He would be okay. Now that someone knew, now that someone could help him, he would be okay.

“Your mum,” his dad said quietly, “your mum would be so proud of you.”

“I wish she was here,” Scorpius started to cry again. “I – I wish I could talk to her again.”

“I know.”

“How did you do it? How did you not use that Time-Turner?”

“She wouldn’t have wanted me to. She would have wanted me to spend the time with you, and concentrate on you. And I haven’t. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Scorpius mumbled. “You – you had your own – grief – to deal with. And I was at school a lot.”

“I should still have done better. And I will. I will do my very, very best to do better.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius swallowed a lump in his throat. “Mum – mum would be proud of you too.”

“Do you think?”

“Yes,” Scorpius said, smiling. “Yes, I do. I think she’d be proud of you because you’re still here, and you’re making the world better.”

His dad smiled at him, with a slight air of not really knowing what Scorpius was referring to, and Scorpius smiled back.

“You’re here,” he explained. “You being here makes the world better.”

“That’s a pretty low bar for your mum to be proud of me.”

“But she would still be proud.”

His dad smiled again and Scorpius squeezed his hand, looking back at the grave. He had to come up here more often, he decided. He had to leave flowers and see his mum and just tell her things.

And if he wanted to do that, he had to eat properly. The walk up the hill had exhausted him more than he cared to admit. He had to start eating and sleeping again if he wanted to see his mum more.

Slow and steady. Little and often. One foot in front of the other.

He looked at his dad.

“Can we do some baking?”

* * *

[Illustration](https://twitter.com/evieadams273/status/1196878415690899462?s=20)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed that. It was meant to be just the flashback. But I wrote that. I'm not really sure where any of it came from. Hi. I'm sorry. I'm a mess.  
Also, you can literally track my mental state through this web page. Whatever the trigger warning is, it's probably going on somewhere in my head. Love that.  
Thanks for reading  
Kudos and comments much appreciated  
Twitter: @evieadams273


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